Jolie zipped the front and the sleeves of her motorcycle jacket. “The cops are going to swarm all over town. We better get.” She stood next to her motorcycle and put on her helmet. “Besides, I’m sick of this place.”
“What about Nguyen’s motorcycle?” I asked.
“He’s the Araneum’s boy. They can take care of it.”
She mounted her BMW. I got into my Toyota and followed her down the road to the highway.
Back in Denver, we spent the next several days tracking Nguyen’s whereabouts. There wasn’t much to go on. His last address was in Sacramento, California, and none of the vampires in that nidus had recently heard from him. Phaedra was another snipe hunt.
Another week passed, and about ten one morning, I got an unexpected phone call.
Sal Cavagnolo asked, “You heard from Phaedra?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“I see.” He sounded disappointed. “I’m in town. Let’s meet and chat.”
“I don’t have much to say.”
“That’s all right,” he replied. “Maybe I want to talk and need somebody to listen. Do it as a favor to me.”
Cavagnolo’s voice reminded me too much of all the trouble I had in Morada. “Sorry, I’m all out of favors.”
“Remember, I bought you all those fucking guns. You owe me.”
True. “Okay. Where? When?”
We met at Gaetano’s. Mid-afternoon. I figured Cavagnolo chose the place out of nostalgia because back when, the bistro was Denver’s mob central.
I watched from across the street. Cavagnolo arrived alone. The last of the lunchtime clientele wandered out. No one’s aura betrayed any signs of trouble.
I let him wait for ten minutes, replaced my contacts, and went in.
Cavagnolo sat at a back table. He didn’t smile when he saw me, nor did he offer to shake my hand. Fine, I didn’t want to shake his, either.
After I sat, he turned a copy of the Pueblo Chieftain for me to read.
The headline for an article below the fold was: “Investigation into Gruesome Murder Site Continues.” Here in Denver, the story no longer ranked the front page.
The situation at Dr. Hennison’s played out like this: he was a disgraced physician who ran a meth lab and surrounded himself with a cult of drug peddlers. There was a turf war with other meth dealers and a confrontation erupted with disastrous consequences. The fire so consumed the remains that medical examiners had identified only sixteen people.
Thirty-two others remained missing, including some locals, and the passengers and driver of a Greyhound bus found abandoned outside of Morada. The police said most of the passengers had criminal records. Rumor was that they were part of the meth ring and had hijacked the bus.
County records showed the property was deeded to Dr. Hennison. DNA testing identified some of the partial remains as belonging to him.
“Unfortunately,” remarked the chief investigator, “the response by firefighters had so contaminated the crime scene that most of our conclusions may remain speculative.”
Complete destruction. Gruesome remains. A macabre mystery. For me, good news.
Cavagnolo asked, “What was that shit with the mutilations?”
I told him what he expected to hear. “Intimidation. Maybe voodoo. Santeria. Some of these druggies get pretty paranoid and start believing in the occult to protect them.”
He replied, “I thought so.”
I pushed the newspaper back to him.
His droopy eyes and expression begged at me.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
He put a finger on the newspaper. “Gino?” As in, was he there?
“Yeah.”
If Cavagnolo’s expression fell any lower, his face would be on the table.
“I couldn’t do anything for him,” I said. “He was dead.” Actually undead but why quibble?
“Phaedra?”
“She wasn’t there.”
“You sure?”
“I saw her the day after all this happened.”
“Where?” Cavagnolo withdrew his finger from the newspaper and his voice rang with hope.
“In the mountain park. Close to town. She had a hideaway.”
“Yeah. That place.” Apparently he knew more about Phaedra than she suspected. “The sheriff didn’t find much there.”
I waited for Cavagnolo to mention Nguyen’s motorcycle, and when he didn’t, I was sure the Araneum had scrubbed the area of vampiric presence.
The waitress brought a basket of bread, a saucer of olive oil, and a small bowl with marinara sauce. Cavagnolo ordered a Diet Coke and the veal parmesan special. I asked for a cup of coffee.
“That’s it?” Cavagnolo asked. “The food here is delicious.”
I knew that. But the only meals I’ve gotten from Gaetano’s were takeout, which I ordered without garlic and once home, drowned in blood.
“Coffee is fine. I didn’t know you had lunch in mind. I’ve already eaten.”
Cavagnolo pleaded with his hands as if to refuse was to hurt him. “What’s an extra bite?”
I slapped my belly. “Gotta watch the weight. I prefer to get my bites somewhere else.”
“At least try the bread. The garlic seasoning is incredible.”
“No thanks,” I insisted. “Allergies.”
“You mean one of those gluten aversion things?”
“No, it’s the garlic.”
“Allergic to garlic?” He tore a chunk of bread and chomped on it. “Might as well give up breathing.”
That too, but not because of allergies.
I didn’t want Cavagnolo to think because we both worried about Phaedra that we were now on the road to becoming big chums. I decided to push him off balance.
“How does this affect…the thing?”
“What thing?”
“The deal you got with your buddies.” I pointed to an American flag over the bar. The feds.
“Oh.” Cavagnolo kept quiet. Nothing like the possibility of blackmail to drive a wedge between us.
He surprised me with a smile. “Can you believe it? The cops asked me about this Hennison creep. For once my hands were cleaner than a virgin’s panties.” The smile turned shrewd. “What’s come out of this deal is that I’ve gotten a bigger blank check to do what I’ve always been doing.”
“Playing the system?”
“Like a fucking piano.”
The waitress brought the Diet Coke and my coffee. Cavagnolo sipped the soda and his eyes focused on the faraway. My coffee was cold. I thought about asking for another, but no, I wasn’t staying.
He gave a long sigh, like he’d dropped a great weight off his shoulders. “Much as I’ve tried to help, that girl has always been trouble. Wouldn’t surprise me if all this shit spooked her and she took off.”
“Run away? Where to?”
“Who the fuck knows? It’s not the first time. Phaedra acted like she was hearing voices from another planet. I think everyone’s accepted the inevitable.”
“What are you getting at?”
He put the soda down. The droopiness was gone from his eyes and they looked hard. Stoic. “Why the concern? You don’t have a thing for her, do you?”
“No, I don’t have a thing for her. She’s a kid in trouble, that’s all.”
“What makes you think you’re so special to her?”
I turned her into a vampire.
“No matter what you’ve done,” Cavagnolo continued, “I’ll tell you how she’ll show her gratitude. The same as she’s done with everyone else. By leaving you on a goddamn limb. I know her. She used the excuse of the Huntington’s to break all the rules. Drugs. Sex. She stole from her school. Her aunt. From me. I’m saying this out of love. Her problems aren’t just here.” Cavagnolo tapped his brow. “But here as well.” He thumped his chest over the heart.
Not anymore.
His voice trailed to a mumble. “She ran off on her own, no?”
She was last seen with Nguyen, but I didn’t need to mention this. “As far as I know.”
“Then forget it. A girl her age, she wants to run away, you couldn’t keep her home by chaining her legs to the goddamn plumbing. I told you before. She is nothing but fucking trouble.”
Cavagnolo grabbed a hunk of bread and ran it through the marinara. The sauce dripped off the crust like blood. “Trust me, the next time you see Phaedra, you’ll regret it.”